Probably Not A Good One To Read While Eating

Because I was reading the Snozzberries post about pooping, it got me thinking of my many pooping stories. Hence my post's title.

I have recently (within the last 6 months) stopped drinking Caffeine. At one point I was drinking literally a gallon of Coke/Pepsi a day. I was one of the very few people who didn't care if I were drinking Coke or Pepsi, just as long as I was drinking one of the two most of the time. (And it's not that I can't tell the difference between them. I can. I can actually SMELL the difference between them. I can also smell the difference between regular and diet.) Anyhow, I discovered much too late that caffeine and IBS don't go well together. Or. Um. They do go well together. Whatever. Either way, I have a lot of pooping stories.

Worst place to go: In a port-a-potty in a construction site in Geyserville in the summertime. Geyersville gets to be over 100 degrees in the summertime.

Worst time to go: Just after taking a prospective girlfriend home after your first official date. (I have to give her credit for seeing me more than once. On our first non-official date I told her a story about me throwing up so hard it hit me in the eye. I also tended to inadvertently insult her outfits.)

In school I would often have to find a bathroom on short notice, and having experience in this sort of thing, I discovered that buildings mostly full of offices have very nice, very clean bathrooms. Also, the higher the floor, the cleaner the bathroom. On one such occasion I picked an officey building and chose the top floor. I stepped out of the elevator, turned right, and was confronted with a door that read "Men's Room. Out of Order." So I got back in the elevator, went down one floor, turned right and went into that bathroom. I popped into the stall and sat down. I thought about what a good choice this building was. Nice clean bathroom.

Then I started to notice things. I don't remember seeing a urinal. There's a very small trash can in the stall with me. I've never a) seen a trash can that small and b) seen a trash can in a bathroom stall. My suspicions were confirmed when some high heels came in and used the stall next to me. I waited until she had left, washed my hands faster than I had ever previously done, and managed to make it back to the elevator undetected.

2 benefits of having small feet:
1) I can often try on the shoe samples in stores, so I don't have to wait for the shoe guy to bring out a pair in my size.
2) When I'm wearing my Adidas, and viewed only from the ankles down, it was very possible that I could have been an above averagely large footed and slightly manish girl, perfectly at home in the women's bathroom on the 7th floor of that particular building.